WHITEHALL, WIS -- We're approaching the 40th anniversary of Woodstock and I have chickens, drugs and L.A. on my mind.
Which is just another way of introducing one of my favorite paranoid gonzo drug songs, namely "Coming into Los Angeles'' by Arlo Guthrie:
Coming in from London
From over the pole
Flying in a big airliner
Chickens flying everywhere around the plane
Could we ever feel much finer?
Funny thing, but my sister Sue has recently become a chicken farmer (is that what they call someone who raises hens?) She nursed them from the incubator stage and now they've become egg-laying fools. And what they say about farm-fresh eggs is really true. There's nothing like them.
Drugs and L.A., well, it's not so fun to report that my identity issue has not gone away. It cropped up again last week. Even though I've never lived in L.A., never been arrested, detained or incarcerated in L.A., I continue to be linked to someone else's dirty deeds there.
I guess if you beat 'em, might as well sing along with 'em:
Coming into Los Angeles
Bringing in a couple of keys
Don't touch my bags if you please
Mister Customs Man